Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  He was probably imagining it.

  After clearing his throat, Nick got to the point. “Say, Mrs. Johnson, Miss Gibb is going to need a place to stay while she’s singing at the Opera House. As you can imagine, the Opera House isn’t … um …”

  “You don’t have to explain it to me, Nicky.” Mrs. Johnson smiled at Eulalie. “We’d be right proud to have you stay with us, Miss Gibb.”

  “Naturally, I’ll pay you for room and board, Mrs. Johnson,” Eulalie said.

  “I reckon you will, sweetie. I’m a charitable woman, when I’ve got it to give, but I expect you’ll be earning enough to pay something.”

  “Of course. I’ll be happy to give you a deposit.”

  Nick didn’t want to offend either lady, but he felt compelled to intervene. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here, Miss Gibb?”

  “Good question, Nicky,” Mrs. Johnson said with a grin. “I’ll warrant this isn’t what you’re used to, Miss Gibb. We’re a little rugged out here in the territory.”

  With perfect graciousness, which Nick ought to have anticipated but hadn’t, Eulalie said, “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Johnson. I assure you that I knew what I was getting in to when I chose to move to the West.” She shot Nick a glance. “Well, for the most part. I must say I hadn’t anticipated some aspects of the New Mexico Territory.”

  Nick gave her a cold eye. “She’s talking about Uncle Junius. I expect you heard that story.”

  With a hearty laugh, Mrs. Johnson said, “I do declare, Nicky, your uncle is a caution!”

  “I don’t think Miss Gibb thought so,” grumbled Nick.

  “As I said, while I was prepared for many … ah … circumstances that are not what I’m used to, I was unprepared for Mr. Junius Taggart.” Eulalie lifted her chin in a gesture Nick was beginning to recognize as one she used when she was irritated.

  “Why don’t you go collect Miss Gibb’s traps, Nicky, and I’ll set the boys to cleanin’ out the back room. Reckon Sarah and Penelope can share a room with me.”

  Eulalie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh! I had no idea you’d have to oust your children, Mrs. Johnson. Please. I’m sure I can find another place to stay. I don’t want to be a pest.”

  Both Mrs. Johnson and Nick looked at her in a way that made Eulalie’s cheeks get pink. Mrs. Johnson said, “You’re not a pest, believe me. It’ll be a plumb pleasure to have another woman to talk to. There aren’t a whole lot of us here yet. And as for finding another place to stay … well, I reckon I’ve heard folks talk about building a hotel here in Rio Peñasco, but it’s not built yet. I expect we’ll have to get a speck more popular with drummers and the like before a hotel could be considered profitable. I think I’m your best bet unless Nicky decides to build you a house.” She winked at Nick, who didn’t appreciate it.

  “Build me a house?” Eulalie said blankly.

  Again Mrs. Johnson laughed. “He’s a mighty handy fellow, our Nick. And he’s got the biggest heart in the world. I reckon if you asked politely, he’d build you a house, houses out here being on the small side and easy to build out of adobe bricks.”

  Peeved, Nick stood and said, “She’s joshing you, Miss Gibb. I’ll go get your bag.”

  Eulalie said, “Thank you,” and steeled herself for the coming ordeal—being left alone to fend for herself with Mrs. Johnson.

  Not that Mrs. Johnson didn’t seem like a perfectly nice woman. But the notion that Eulalie was driving two little girls out of their bedroom made her feel just terrible. She didn’t want the children to hate her. Life was already hard enough.

  Eulalie wasn’t a snob. She’d come from a theatrical family and was accustomed to making do. But these territorial residences were … different from what she was used to. Most of the places she’d stayed in back east had been hotels or rooming houses of one sort or another.

  With a sigh, Mrs. Johnson rose from the chair on which she’d been sitting, picked up a squashed throw pillow and endeavored to fluff it into life. “While Nicky’s getting your things, why don’t I show you where you’ll be staying, Miss Gibb? It’s not elegant, as I said, but it’s safe. I reckon, what with your job and all, you might have to endure a few misunderstandings before Nick sets all the men in town straight.”

  The older woman’s candor made Eulalie’s cheeks get hot. She got up from the sofa and prepared to take the tour. She didn’t anticipate that it would take long. “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. Um … I assure you that I really am a singer. I don’t do … anything else.”

  “Oh, my goodness, you don’t have to tell me that, sweetie. Nicky wouldn’t have brought you here if you were anything but a lady.”

  Eulalie decided perhaps she hadn’t given Nick the credit he deserved, although her opinion had been colored by that embarrassing episode with her corset. Or without her corset.

  Mrs. Johnson bustled ahead of Eulalie toward the kitchen. Following, Eulalie assessed her hostess. They were about the same height, although Mrs. Johnson was perhaps an inch taller than Eulalie’s own five feet, two inches. Eulalie couldn’t even guess at her age. She looked about a hundred and six, but Eulalie imagined she wasn’t more than forty or thereabouts. The territory, clearly, was very hard on its women. That might have given Eulalie pause had she not already discovered that there were many ways in which life could be hard on women, and at least Patsy could probably be safe here.

  Every now and then she experienced a compelling urge to shoot Gilbert Blankenship dead. Unfortunately she was prevented by distance from fulfilling her desire. Thanks to the lessons she’d taken in Chicago, however, she’d be ready for him if he ever showed up.

  The kitchen was a large room, with a big wood-burning stove in one corner, a table and six chairs in the middle, and lots of cupboards. The sink and counters sat under a window decorated with pretty, frilly yellow curtains and that gave a perfect view of … nothing. Offhand, Eulalie couldn’t recall ever being anywhere with less scenery, unless you counted scrub grass, rocks and cacti. If she hadn’t been prepared, she might well have succumbed to melancholia.

  “I’m going to plant me a garden out there,” Mrs. Johnson said, indicating the ground outside the kitchen window. “I get durned tired of looking at dirt. I’m from Massachusetts originally, and I miss seeing green.”

  “I understand completely.” Eulalie’s agreement was heartfelt.

  The other woman laughed. “I reckon you do. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. When I first moved here with my Zeke, I used to think I’d go crazy in all this open space. When I went back to visit my kin in Auburn ten years ago, I thought I’d die from being closed in. Everywhere I looked there was a durned tree in the way.”

  With a small smile of her own, Eulalie said, “I’m looking forward to acquiring your perspective.”

  “Reckon you are. Where are you from, Miss Gibb?”

  “Chicago. By way of New York.”

  “Yup. You’ll miss green, too.” Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “You’re a brave woman, to come all this way by yourself. Not many women would have the grit for such an adventure. But I have an idea you’re going to do all right.”

  Eulalie didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion, but she appreciated it. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a fact that women don’t have much of a chance to shine in the States,” Mrs. Johnson went on musingly. “Out west is about the only place where a woman of spirit can find her own place in the world. Of course, having a good man on your side don’t hurt any.” She shot a grin at Eulalie over her shoulder.

  With the conviction of experience, Eulalie said, “Good men are hard to find.”

  “You already found one of ‘em. If you ever decided you need a man in your life, you couldn’t do better than Nick Taggart.”

  Hmm. While Eulalie wasn’t sure she liked Nick Taggart much, she was pleased to have Mrs. Johnson confirm her tentative opinion of his potential usefulness. Since the older woman seemed inclined to talk, she asked, “Your children called him Uncle Nicky. Is he
a relative of yours or your late husband?”

  Another laugh from her hostess. “Mercy, no! But try as he might, Nicky just can’t help but be nice to my children. And helpful? That man would give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it.”

  The notion of seeing Nick Taggart without his shirt gave Eulalie pause. She shook the disgraceful idea out of her head. “Is that right?”

  “You bet. He can’t help himself, although I know he’s tried.”

  Puzzled, Eulalie said, “Tried? You mean tried not to be helpful?”

  “Yup.”

  How odd. She decided to say so. “How … odd.”

  “Not if you know his story, it isn’t.” Another chuckle carried Mrs. Johnson through the kitchen and out the other door. “Here’s the room that’ll be yours, Miss Gibb. I’ll have my gals out of her in a couple of shakes.”

  Eulalie really wanted to know Nick’s story, but didn’t want Mrs. Johnson to think she was interested in him. Therefore, she remained silent as she peeked into a medium-sized room with two beds and a large wardrobe and a table pushed against the far wall, under a window. This window also looked out on a good deal of nothing, but was prettied up with pink-flowered curtains. Two little girls whom Eulalie judged to be perhaps five and eight, sat on one of the beds, their hands folded in their laps, their big blue eyes wide and staring. It was clear to her that they wanted to tackle her and ask her about a million questions. She’d never been around children much, but she smiled at them.

  “Girls,” said Mrs. Johnson, “this here is Miss Eulalie Gibb, and she’s going to be renting this room from us for a while.”

  The little girls stood up and curtseyed. Eulalie thought they were adorable. “How-do, ma’am,” said the older one.

  “I’m quite well, thank you. What’s your name?”

  “Penelope. Folks call me Penny. This here’s Sarah. She’s only five.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Penelope and Sarah.” She turned to Mrs. Johnson, “I hate to have to disturb your daughters, Mrs. Johnson.”

  “Nonsense. They’ll be thrilled to have a real back-East lady livin’ in the place.”

  “We don’t mind,” Penelope assured her eagerly. “We don’t mind at all.”

  Mrs. Johnson eyed her daughters, and creases appeared in her forehead. “I hope you don’t mind if they bother you a bit. I’ll do my best to keep ‘em away from you, but they’ll be curious.”

  “We won’t bother you!” Penelope cried. “Honest, we won’t.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Eulalie murmured.

  Mrs. Johnson said, “We don’t get too many female visitors to Rio Peñasco. Respectable female visitors, that is.”

  “I’m sure that’s so.” And how respectable was she? Eulalie wondered. She’d run into prejudice against actors and actresses in the East, but generally it came from people who were excessively self-righteous. As of this very moment, she guessed she was a respectable widow lady. If she had to, however, she was willing to exchange her respectability for protection. Her mind and heart were both steeled to accept that possibility if it became necessary.

  “Say, Miss Gibb,” said Mrs. Johnson. “You got a special fellow in your life right now?”

  Eulalie hadn’t expected the question, although she didn’t mind it since it would enhance her air of respectability even more. “I’m a widow, as you are, Mrs. Johnson. My Edward died four years ago, of consumption.”

  Mrs. Johnson shook her head sadly. “I’m mighty sorry to hear that, ma’am.” She eyed Eulalie curiously. “Er … you still call yourself Miss Gibb?”

  Smiling, Eulalie explained, “I come from a theatrical family, Mrs. Johnson. My great-grandfather, Mortimer Gibb, established the Gibb Theatrical Company in the early eighteen hundreds. The company has thrived since that time. My married name was Mrs. Edward Thorogood.”

  “I see. Well, now, that’s right interesting. I’ll warrant you have some pretty good stories to tell about all the plays you’ve been in and everything like that.”

  “Indeed.” She had lots of stories, all right, and not all of them were fit for respectable company. She’d be happy to talk about her family, however, any time anybody wanted to hear about it. Talking might make them seem closer to her. At this moment, Eulalie felt very much alone in the world—but that was only because she was. She’d be so happy when Patsy could travel again. A pang of loneliness spurred her to say, “My sister will be coming to join me as soon as she’s able.”

  “That so? Well now, isn’t that fine! Wish I had some family here. Besides my children, of course. I do miss ‘em. And I miss other things about back East, too. Clams and lobsters come to mind.” She laughed softly, but Eulalie sensed there was real longing in the woman’s words.

  “Oh, my, yes,” she said. “I can imagine that’s so. The food here is … different.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Mrs. Johnson sighed. “I’d give my eyeteeth for a dish of real Boston baked beans. We used to eat baked beans and brown bread every Saturday night when I was a girl. Out here, all we can get is pinto beans, and they just aren’t the same, although I do my best. Thank God for bacon and molasses. My sister sent me some white beans a year or so ago, but they were gone in a month.” She laughed again. “We may get civilized one of these days.”

  “I’m sure of it,” said Eulalie, who knew no such thing. In truth, she wasn’t eager to have Rio Peñasco become civilized any time soon. The longer she could remain out of the limelight or any hint thereof, the better she’d like it and the safer Patsy would be.

  A commotion at the door preceded a stampede of children. Mrs. Johnson sighed. “Reckon that’ll be Nick with your belongings, Miss Gibb.”

  “Please,” said Eulalie. “Call me Eulalie.”

  Mrs. Johnson gave her a big smile. “Thank you kindly, Eulalie. Please call me Louise.”

  Eulalie decided she was off to a good start in her new career as a runaway.

  Chapter Six

  My dearest Patsy,

  Well, dear, I have arrived, and Rio Peñasco isn’t half as horrid as we expected it to be. In fact, many of the citizens seem determined to bring civilization to the place (Obut don’t worry. It won’t happen soon). I understand the civic leaders even put on a town barbecue supper once a year, to celebrate the town’s founding, although God alone knows why anyone would wish to celebrate the establishment of such a barren, desolate community.

  Some of the natives are rather nice, however, and I am now renting a room from a very kind widow lady named Mrs. Louise Johnson, who has five children. It’s a rather noisy house, but it will do for now. When you are well enough to come out, I will be sure we have a place of our own to stay. The people who live here build houses and so forth out of mud bricks, rather like the ancient Egyptians used to do, only these local bricks are called adobe, which is, I believe, a Spanish word meaning mud brick.

  There is a fort nearby, and several soldiers come to town quite often. I have considered one of them, Lieutenant Gabriel Fuller, as a possible protector, if it comes to that, although there’s another man in town who might fill the bill slightly better, except that he’s rather a brute. On the other hand, that may be exactly what we need. His name is Nicholas Taggart, and he has an uncle named Junius. They both work as blacksmiths and farriers, and both are as big as houses.

  My dear, please take good care of yourself. We are safe for a little while longer and, with luck and good timing, you will be long gone from Chicago by the time Gilbert Blankenship gets out of prison.

  All my Love,

  Eulalie

  Eulalie had believed herself fully prepared for her new life in an upstart western village. She’d not only studied all the newspaper and periodical articles she could find, but she read all the dime novels about cowboys and sheriffs and cattle rustlers she could get her hands on. And, for the most part, she discovered her education was valid.

  She was pleased to find that Rio Peñasco, for all its lack of refinement,
was not too difficult a place in which to live. This was true primarily because it had been settled, more or less, for more than thirty years, and people had instituted a few conveniences. For instance, Nick Taggart had installed a water closet and a toilet in Mrs. Johnson’s house. Eulalie appreciated not having to go outdoors to use the facilities, since her presence in town was known, and quite a few men seemed to hang around Mrs. Johnson’s yard. Ever since Nick had made it known that Eulalie was under his protection, none of the men had yet dared enter the yard, but Eulalie didn’t want to tempt fate.

  The local mercantile emporium couldn’t hold a candle to the new department stores in New York and Chicago, of course, but Mr. Lovelady, who owned and ran the store with the help of his wife and various other relatives, compensated his customers for any lacks by providing them with both a Sears and Roebuck and a Bloomingdale’s catalog from which to order anything he didn’t stock. These “wish books,” as the local ladies called them, were in a constant state of use and almost too well thumbed. When Eulalie glanced through the Sears catalog, she could scarcely read the print on some of the pages.

  “We get new ones every year,” Mrs. Lovelady assured her, treating her with a deference Eulalie hadn’t expected. She’d understood that saloon singers weren’t widely respected by the few ladies who survived in these backwater villages.

  She was pleased to know she’d been mistaken and asked Mrs. Johnson about the phenomenon one evening just as she was waiting for Nick and Junius to accompany her to the Peñasco Opera House to begin her evening’s job. “I’m glad no one thinks I’m a hussy,” she said, after mulling over and discarding several other descriptive terms.

  Mrs. Johnson, her hands dripping soapsuds, cried, “Good Lord, child, why would anyone think you’re a hussy?”